Metamorphosis: A story of Maturing
Chapter 3: The Beginning of Summer
Lucius Malfoy was not used to being stood up. In fact, to his recent memory, it had not happened in at least 20 years. He had not been kept waiting by anyone since the Dark Lord had given him a position of respect among the Death Eaters, and no one in the Ministry had dared to keep him waiting since he had placed their bumbling minister of magic in his pocket. But, he supposed, if anyone had the gall to keep him waiting, it would be Lord Voldemort.
Not that he was too impatient to be rescued from Azkaban. Lucius actually dreaded his pending breakout almost as much as he dreaded the idea of a trip to the Veil, which might await him if the ministry ever got around to formally trying him.
But he was still loyal to his lord and master, and he knew that after his punishment, he would still be close to him and have the pleasure of eradicating the slime that was slowly permeating the magical world: mudblood-filth.
After he faced his turn at the master's Cruciatus, then he would be happy again. And Lucius Malfoy would not rot in Azkaban for much longer.
Hermione Granger had never been so worried about anyone in her entire life. She had known Harry for five years now, and she had never seen him so dejected. She was so worried about him, in fact, that upon arriving at her home, she did not immediately set out her summer homework.
No, instead she quickly pulled out a pen and parchment and wrote a letter to Dumbledore. Maybe he would know what was bothering him, other than the obvious, that was.
She thought hard about wanting to send the letter, and, true to form, Fawkes appeared in a colorful plume of flames and accepted the letter from her. Hermione smiled; she loved phoenixes.
Conversation over dinner was unusually strained. Her parents were honestly interested in what her school year had been like, and for the first time barring the time travel incident in her third year, Hermione found herself being less than honest with them. How was she supposed to say that she had faced death? Hi Mom, nice to see you, yeah, my school year was great, had fun, studied hard, battled some of the most evil wizards in the world in a secret place under the Ministry of Magic, you know, the usual. And how was your year? And what was she supposed to say about Sirius? None of this was dinner conversation.
When she and her mother were cleaning up the dishes, her father left to visit his study. He came back carrying an envelope with a broken blank seal. He handed it to Hermione, who wiped her hands before taking it.
What she read did not shock her as much as it should have. She knew Voldemort might be after her, and maybe even her parents too. But even if the letter didn't shock her, it still upset her. She looked at her father, who said,
"Dumbledore suggested 'evasive maneuvers', or something like that. We were thinking Majorca. And you could go back to that place…"
"Yes, that would be fine. I suppose…" Hermione was finding it hard to focus. She was very sleepy, she realized. "You mean you aren't mad that I didn't tell you about all of this?"
Mrs. Granger looked at her daughter sadly. "Of course not, darling. We're so proud of you. You've shouldered a heavy burden and shown yourself to be well able to do it. We understand."
"Oh, mum." Hermione fell into her arms. "Mum, I've been so upset." She started crying, barely aware that they were all sitting down in a large family hug. "I don't know what we're going to do." They sat together on the linoleum floor, crying, for a long time. As her tears slowed, Hermione picked herself up off the ground, wiping her eyes.
"I think I'll head off to bed now, alright? I—If you are going to Majorca soon, there must be some things you have to do. I'll help. And I probably ought to get ready for…" She trailed off sniffing.
"Of course dear," she said, "you've had an awfully long day."
Remus had slipped him the note at the platform as a last comment before Uncle Vernon had all but dragged him into the car. Although he had been pleased at the prospect of a nice, uplifting note from his former professor or help with the guilt he was feeling, the note had proved to be heavily lacking anything which could be termed 'uplifting' or 'helpful'. In fact, the news had been downright maddening.
Harry had never been so incensed with Remus in his life. Not only did he still have to spend the first half of his summer with the Dursleys, but in order to escape them for the second half, he had to live with Draco Malfoy. It was a testament to how awful the Dursleys were that he still was looking forward to leaving them.
Harry hadn't even been looking forward to Grimmauld Place anyway. The idea of being anywhere reminiscent of Sirius was upsetting. Was it not enough that the prophesy had just been revealed to him, he had no family, and was grieving over the loss of the only father figure he ever had? Now his loving mentors had heaped a great dose of living with his arch-rival on top of it all. Harry wanted to smash something. Very badly.
However, Harry restrained himself, and flopped down on his bed. He vented his frustration into a yell, muffled by his pillow and threw it across the room where it hit the door harmlessly.
"That really doesn't work that well," he thought to himself ruefully as he drifted off to a troubled sleep.
Just as Harry was arriving at Number 4 Privet Drive, Draco Malfoy was being smuggled into London; a polyjuiced Professor Snape had taken the train ride in his place, and Draco was about to take a portkey to that building Professor Dumbledore said would be safe. All in all, everything was going quite smoothly.
Dumbledore looked at Draco over the rim of his glasses, fixing a serious gaze on him as he handed him a Muggle soup can.
"Mr. Malfoy, I want you to know; the place you are going to is a secret location. It is the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, and therefore will be frequented by many people who have things of great importance on their hands. They will not be in the mood to deal with any mischief or misbehavior you might come up with. I hope very much that you will integrate yourself into the household life, and please, place any childish prejudices aside. This is to be your safe haven. Molly Weasley is expecting you, so I think you'll be off about…now."
"Molly Weasl—" Draco began to say, but he was felt the familiar tug behind his navel and found himself dumped unceremoniously is a rather dank foyer.
Lucius was jolted awake in the middle of the night by a familiar pain in his arm. He rolled to his feet quickly, quietly. A few moments later, a large crash sounded from the entrance to the prison, followed by several sets of footsteps. There was a creaking noise in his cell door, and he could see a dark hooded figure in front of him with a pale hand, spinning an extra wand.
Lucius scuttled to grab it; it was his own.
"Come" the figure whispered.
Harry was jolted awake in the middle of the night by a familiar pain in his scar, accompanied by the all too common strains of a vision slipping through his fingers. Scrambling to his desk, he grabbed a quill and a paper and scribbled down everything he could remember: a wrought iron gate, blown off its hinges. Grey walls and stone and mortar. A rat-like man handing a slender stick to a man with pale blond hair. A feeling of overwhelming happiness, screams of pain and euphoria. Azkaban had been breached.
Hedwig nipped his ear soothingly. Harry took some water from the glass he had left by his bed, and petted her head. Absently looking over what he had written, he added a quick aside to his hasty notes and rolled them up. Tying them to Hedwig, he sent her off to Remus. He knew he should send them to Dumbledore, but in his opinion, the old cod could just hear it from Remus. There was no way Harry was risking Dumbledore thinking he was forgiven; he wasn't.
Draco had managed to trip and fall face first over an umbrella stand shaped like a troll leg as he landed. Following the loud crash of his fall, there was another piercing screeching noise. Such a cacophony of cats' tails being stepped on he had never heard. He rolled over and stood up quickly, looking for the source of that terrible sound. When he finally figured it out, he almost died of shock.
There was the portrait of a woman he could recognize without a doubt as the most recent mother of the Black family. The woman in the portrait was screaming what Draco assumed to be words and as he tried to shut up the portrait, he could discern some of them.
"FOUL VILE MUDBLOOD-LOVERS...YOU DARE DEFILE… MOST NOBLE HOUSE…MY BASTARD SON…TRAITORS ALL OF YOU…" and on and on she went. The shrieking was unbearable.
"MADAM BLACK! PLEASE, BE QUIET!" And she was. She looked at Draco with and an appraising eye.
"I haven't met you before. Are you a new recruit for the Order? Another one of these lowlifes Dumbledore digs up from the dredges of Society?"
Draco was highly offended, "I, madam, am a Malfoy, not some dredge, as you so kindly put it." The expression on the portrait's face changed to one of utter joy.
"At last! My darling Narcissa has conspired to save me! Quick, before anyone else comes, the spell to get me off the wall is parietis absolvisti. Quick! Before anyone else comes! They'll be home any minute!" Just as she finished speaking, the front door opened with a bang.
"RONALD WEASLEY, IF WE ARE LATE AND MISS HIM, JUST BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T CALM THAT STUPID BIRD, I SWEAR I'LL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR MY ACTIONS."
"But Mum…"
"THIS ISN'T AMUSING, RONALD. PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE SAID…" Molly Weasley stood in the middle of the front hall, and addressed a shell shocked Draco Malfoy in a way which one might use on a friend who hadn't been seen in ages. "My dear, you've arrived. We ought to get you settled."
"Mum? What's for dinner?" Piped up another voice, all too familiar. Draco worried that he had been dumped by Dumbledore at whatever shit-hole the Weasley's lived in. But then, why would they have a portrait of that Black woman?
Molly strode forward and took the soup can that was still in Draco's hand. Waving it behind her, she said,
"Well, Ginny, I do believe Dumbledore wants some soup. But we'll be needing more than one can, as the rest of the family is coming for a welcome home dinner. After all, it is good to have a family get together at the end of the year." She bustled into the kitchen, yelling back, "Ron, dear, take our guest up to your room. He'll be in the extra bed."
Draco looked back at the door, in a shocked silence to meet the wide eyes of Ron Weasley; the very last person he ever expected to see that summer. Peeking out from behind him was Ginny Weasley, along with Fred and George, who both wore identical grins which were making him very uncomfortable. Ron dropped the end of his trunk with a loud bang. There was an awkward silence, punctuated only by the unremitting wail of Mrs. Black.
After a few moments, one of the twins (he couldn't tell which one,) poked Ron in the back and said, "Well, Ronnikens, take your new friend up to your room!"
They both snickered and followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen. Ginny went up the stairs without a word, and Ron seemed to break out of his state of shock.
"Follow me," he said. He led Draco up the stairs to a small, dank room on the second landing. Pointing to a bed under a painting, he dropped his own trunk at the food of one of the other beds. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from me and my family. There's no Crabbe and Goyle to protect your holy arse here, ferret." And he stormed down out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
AN: Well. Welcome to Grimmauld Place! This looks to be an interesting summer, don't you think so? Sorry to anyone who was paying attention, but it seems that instead of returning on the 20th as I thought, my family was really planning on returning, er…yesterday. Which would explain the week long delay.
You know what I hate about golf? It's really just a snooty, expensive and time consuming game of kick the can. People get all dressed up and buy expensive clubs and join expensive clubs, but in the end, all it is is kick the can. What the hell?
And before you ask, my score was in the four digits. For nine holes. I am the worst golfer I know.
Please review. Really. I love you.